


The Sword of the Father

by eveshka



Series: Tales of the Dawn King [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10082108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: Noctis wasn't alone.





	

“Dad… the time we had together… I cherish.”

Regis had known what awaited his son since the early days of Noctis’ fifth year. The Crystal- no, Bahamut had told him. Noctis was the one, the Chosen. The King of Light, the one who would end the curse brought by the darkness. But to do that, he had to die, to pass from this world into the next, taking with him the power.

"Kings of Lucis, come to me!"

It wasn't a request he could have ignored if he'd wanted. it was a Command born of power carried through the bloodline and something that drew him to the throne, to stand by the side of the young man that now sat within the cold marble confines. Regis felt his blade appear, heard the point drive hard into the carpeted marble, knowing that Noctis had drawn in both command and challenge, daring them to defy him. Oh, how Regis wished he could.

One by one the old Kings stepped forwards, their weapons slamming into Noctis as he sat, the force of their blades needed to pierce the veil through the young dying king. Noctis was as silent as he could be, the pain echoed in Regis’ chest as he stood in silent torment, unable to do anything but stand silent witness.

He knew what would be done.

The sword, _his_ sword, Noctis held on to it for strength, drew from it comfort and power even as the other weapons hurt him. Regis couldn’t help the tears that coursed down his own cheeks, the silence that fell when the all but the last of the Kings had acted.

And still Regis stood, raging against his own role, against the betrayal that he knew would come. His sword. His hand. His _son_. His little boy that looked so much like his mother. The child he’d moved the will of gods to save and protect. The young man he’d sent away to keep safe from what was coming, that he now had to… no. There had to be another way, he _couldn’t_.

The sword moved, the tip of the blade scraping hard against marble, Noctis offering the blade. Of course, he’d known Regis was there, and that hurt Regis more than anything else.

“Dad… Trust in me…”

His armor came to him at will, coalescing around him lest Noctis see the tears, see the heartbreak and soul-crushing pain that Regis could no longer hide. He was there, before Noctis, seeing his son bent almost in half by pain without the support of the sword now held by Regis himself.

It wasn’t an astral blade, no, the Sword of the Father was heavy and solid, a fierce weapon capable of so much. Regis had never hated it more. But Noctis was moving, slowly starting to lift his head, to look to the last king who hovered before him, to his father.

_No. Do not look at me. Do not see what I do. If you look at me…_

The old King moved.

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me after reading a few posts on Tumblr.  
> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


End file.
